No Response
by CamsthiSky
Summary: Dick won't answer the door, so Jason improvises.


**Anonymous asked: "No. Don't you dare shut me out!" with Jason and Dick.**

 **Anonymous asked: For the angst prompts, #5. "You're everything to me, yet I'm nothing to you." For Jason and Dick.**

* * *

Jason bangs on the wood door in front of him. "Open up, Dick!" he yells, and he waits. But like the last two times he was here, the door remains closed, no noise or movement behind it. "Dammit, Dick! If you don't open the door right now I'm going to break in!"

He's sure there are neighbors listening to his every word, but right now, Jason's too angry to care. This is the third time that Jason's been to Dick's apartment in the last week, and every single time nobody's answered. He _knows_ Dick's in there. Tim had just visited Dick this morning. So that begged the question, why isn't Dick answering his door when it's Jason?

"Dick!" Jason yells again. "I know you're in there! Just let me in already!"

The door stays shut. God, Jason doesn't even know why he's here other than the fact that Alfred had asked him to check up on Dick, who has a slight cold. Jason swears the guy becomes a goddamn baby when he's sick.

Finally, Jason's had enough with the waiting, and he bends down to unlock the door with a lock pick—except, it's already unlocked. The door wings open easily, and Jason gets a bad feeling in his stomach at the implications.

"Dick?" he calls, walking into the apartment and shutting—and _locking —_ the door behind him. "Dick, where are you?"

Dick's not in the kitchen, not in the living room, or the bedroom. Then, when Jason peeks into the bathroom connected to Dick's room, his blood runs cold. There, lying on the bathroom tiles face up, is Dick. He's unconscious and extremely pale.

"Shit," Jason says, sliding to his knees next to Dick's body. He taps Dick's cheek experimentally with one hand, the other probing the back of Dick's head for any injuries. "Dick, wake up. Come on, Dickface."

But Dick doesn't respond, and Jason finds a sizable bump on the back of Dick's head. He blows out a sigh and fumbles with his phone, dialing the number of the only person he can handle right now and putting it on speaker.

 _"_ _Hello?"_ Tim asks, sounding confused.

"What are you doing right now?" Jason wonders, tapping Dick's cheek again. No response, but he doesn't want to shake Dick in case there's another injury he doesn't know about. "And how fast can you get to Dick's apartment?"

 _"_ _Uh, pretty fast, I guess,"_ Tim says. _"I'm right around the corner. Is there a reason I'm going to Dick's apartment? Is he okay?"_

"He's—Hey, Dickface. Welcome to the land of the living," Jason says, half-relieved, half-mocking as Dick's baby blues crack open. They flutter weakly and just when it looks like Dick's about to pass out again, Jason grabs Dick's chin and just holds it. "No! Dick, look at me. You need to stay awake until I can figure out how bad your concussion is."

 _"_ _Concussion?"_ Tim asks, but Jason ignores that in lieu of Dick's croaked, "Jason?"

"Yeah, Goldie," Jason says, his voice going all gentle and soft of its own accord. "It's me. Can you stay awake for me?"

Dick blinks lethargically, and it takes him a few seconds before he says an uncertain, "Yeah."

Jason's stomach sinks, because he's pretty sure that Dick's not all that aware of what's happening around him. He's probably severely concussed, and Jason thinks he should probably call Dr. Thompkins.

 _"_ _Ask him what he remembers,"_ Tim all but orders.

"I know how to check for a concussion," Jason snaps, and Dick barely even responds. His pupils are all wonky, and there's a confused look to his face that seals the deal. Concussion. Bad one. He takes it slow, asking Dick questions, giving Dick a word to memorize and then asking more questions before asking for that word again. Dick is barely coherent throughout the entire thing. Tim pitches in every once in a while, too.

Finally, Tim says, _"I'm outside Dick's building. I'll be up in a second."_

"Yeah, sure," Jason says, and hangs up, not sure why he'd called _the Replacement_ of all people. He's exhausted and he hasn't even been here half an hour yet. Not how he'd thought he'd start his afternoon, but he should have known. Dick has never been able to do things the normal way. Not even a cold. Has to add a concussion to the list, too.

"Jason?" Dick asks, cloudy eyes searching his own. "What're you doing here?"

"I'm supposed to be checking up on you, you moron," Jason says, feeling some thread of anger run through him again. "I was gonna feed you soup and force you to lie down for a few hours, but instead you had to brain yourself on the floor of your own bathroom. Who fucking does that?"

"I…what?"

Jason forces himself to let go of his anger. Dick probably can't even hold onto Jason's words right now, and it won't do any good to rant and rave like he wants to.

"No, Jason," Dick says, even though it's weak. But there's this glint in his eyes that pushes past the confusion. Figures. Even concussed Dick can't let go of that big brother instinct that drives him. "Don't you dare shut me out."

"Now's not the best time to be discussing this," Jason says. He doesn't even know why he's just _sitting_ here right now. He should be getting ice packs, making sure Dick can move his legs and toes and everything else in his body. But yet, he can't make himself move. He stays where he is, right next to Dick. "You can barely stay awake."

"I can…." But Dick trails off, blinks rapidly, and then he looks up after Jason. "What—What were we talking about?"

"You know," Jason says, because he's sure that Dick will probably remember exactly _none_ of this, "Sometimes I think that you're everything to me, Dick. You and Bruce. Even the rest of this messed up dysfunctional family. But, even though I think that, it feels like I'm nothing to any of you."

"You're not," Dick says, but he's still blinking. He has a clumsy grip on Jason's sleeve, though, and Jason can't help but sigh.

"I said sometimes, idiot," Jason huffs.

"But that last part," Dick says, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, and after a few minutes of searching for words, Dick closes his eyes in frustration. "I'm tired."

"Stay awake," Jason repeats.

"I know." Dick doesn't seem to have enough energy to open his eyes back up again. Still, Dick's brow creases, and he's gained _some_ semblance of reality back, because he doesn't seem to be so out of sorts anymore. "Tim…. I'm pretty sure Tim was here, right?"

"He's—"

"Dick!" Tim yells from the front room, the door slamming shut behind him. Jason watches with a raised eyebrow as he sprints to the bathroom doorway. He catches sight of Dick on the floor and sends Jason a glare. "Did you not move him to his bed?"

"Hell no," Jason says. "He's fucking heavy."

"'M _not_ heavy," Dick murmurs. "Bruce can carry me. I think."

"When you were _twelve,"_ Jason shoots back before he turns to Tim again. "Besides, there was a better chance of keeping him awake of he's lying on the tiles. And it's closer to the toilet if he throws up or something."

Tim glares at him. "You just made up those reasons off the top of your head. Just now."

"Doesn't mean they aren't true."

"You're such a—"

"No," Dick moans, clutching Jason's sleeve just a bit harder. "You two aren't allowed to fight when my head hurts."

Jason and Tim both deflate, and Tim murmurs a small, "Sorry."

Jason rolls his eyes, though. Now that Tim is here, even though he's younger and probably a little less experienced, he feels just a bit more relaxed. He heaves a big sigh and tells Dick, "You know, if you'd just let Alfred take care of you, this wouldn't have happened."

Dick's eyebrows crumple. "I can't remember why, but I can't go to the manor."

"Damian," Tim tells Jason. "He doesn't want Damian to get sick, so he basically banished himself from the manor. Damian's not allowed to visit, either."

"And we are?" Jason asks incredulously.

Tim shrugs. "Damian's…something else to Dick."

Yeah, something that Jason and Tim aren't, it seems like. Jason pretends that doesn't hurt him as much as it actually does to think that way, and he squares his shoulders. "Are you going to take care of him now?" he asks Tim. "I've got better things to do than monitor him all night long."

Tim blinks in alarm. "Wait _what?_ You aren't seriously leaving me alone with him while he's concussed, are you? Because that's shitty. Even for you, Jason."

Jason tries to shrug off the guilt of that, but he can't quite manage it. "Call Bruce or something."

 _"_ _No,"_ Dick hisses, latching even _tighter_ to Jason's sleeve like it'll be enough to keep Jason from leaving. Honestly, though, it might just be. "No one call…Bruce. Just—I'll be fine on my own. I'll sleep it off."

Jason snorts. "You can't sleep off a concussion, Dick."

"Watch me," Dick snarls, pulling on Jason's sleeve and getting himself about an inch off the floor before his face goes pale white, and he drops down to the tile again, heaving for breath. "Bad…bad idea. That was a bad idea."

"Just stay on the floor," Tim says, coming down to kneel next to Jason.

"Jesus," Jason sighs. "You're so pathetic that even _I_ feel bad about leaving you."

"You're staying?" Tim asks, looking hopeful and skeptical, and Jason can't help but sigh, because Dick looks too out of it again to notice the conversation happening not even three feet above him. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." Jason gazes down at Dick. "I'll stay. But just because even the Riddler would take one look at Dick and escort him to the hospital."

If Jason's being honest, though, it's because even if he feels like absolutely nothing in Dick's eyes, Dick seems to mean something to him. And he can't—he can't really abandon him, no matter what he'd said before. Dick's his brother, after all, even if it seems to go more one way than the other. That's fine, though. It just seems to be a pattern in his life he's doomed to repeat.

His mother. Bruce. And now Dick.

Well, Jason can take it. If he could take death and come back kicking, then he can take this, too.


End file.
